


we wear our traumas the way the guillotine wears gravity

by mostlikelydefinentlymad



Series: for fifty years you were my favorite poem [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Love and Loss, M/M, No Dialogue, POV Steve Rogers, Pining Steve, Post-Canon, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Stucky - Freeform, inside of steve's head, picking up after the events of Winter Soldier and onward until after Civil War, prose, what happened after bucky went back into cryo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-12
Updated: 2016-07-12
Packaged: 2018-07-23 13:38:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7465506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mostlikelydefinentlymad/pseuds/mostlikelydefinentlymad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(and our lovers necks are so soft) </p><p>here sits steve's reason for living, for signing up for the war time and time again until he found the 107th, for crashing a jet into ice caps, for letting his body collide with murky river water because bucky truly didn't know him anymore, here is love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we wear our traumas the way the guillotine wears gravity

**SEQUEL:[the lines of you were the closest thing to holy I'd ever heard (Bucky's POV)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7482759)**

_in a world that could have left us hard as metal_  
_we were soft as nostalgia together_

([x](http://ohandreagibson.tumblr.com/ido))

Two years ago Natasha had looked Steve in the eye and told him about a ghost who called himself a man. She couldn't have known it then but those words would hang in the air long after she was gone, long after the dust had settled and the ghost had a name.

In 2014 Bucky disappeared among the thin tendrils of smoke and Steve died that day. His knees hit pavement with more force than necessary and all he could hear was the ever present "Who the hell is Bucky?" echoing in his ears like a song long played out but continuing to repeat.

And again when he woke in the hospital with Sam at his side; he felt the absence in every bone, every muscle. It was a pain that morphine could never touch. After eight days in the hospital he could take no more. In this place nurses and doctors were witness to the spike in his heart rate when, upon sleeping, cold blue eyes stared back at him, empty.

Somewhere between waking and dreaming he'd came up with a plan, where to go from here. Letting Bucky slip away for good was not an option even if his eyes appeared haunted, even if he was too far for comfort.

The journey had begun in a cemetery and how morbidly fitting it was. This was a place where the dead and living met in the middle, where teary goodbyes were made over hard stones but their story would not end here, not yet.

\------

Steve Rogers is a post-war relic, America's icon. He is a symbol of hope and honesty but what most people forget is how terribly achingly human he is. In the year 2016 they find out in the worst possible way.

One minute he's facing Rumlow with confidence and determination then just like that everything crumbles at the mention of Bucky's name. Rumlow practically spits it at Steve with venom in his voice, hate in his eyes.

"He remembered you, he got all weepy about it."

It is this part that kills - one second at a time. Decades in a single blink.

One blink - Steve is eight years old with a busted lip and black eye, Bucky's arm around thin shoulders as he brags about losing a baby tooth

Two blinks - They're thirteen and Bucky is pecking Steve on the lips because Steve won't shut up about how he'll never get a girl to kiss him

Three blinks - Age sixteen. Steve is blowing their hard earned cash on hotdogs because Bucky is falling over his own feet for a girl named Dottie. Their dates ditch them because Steve disappears into the crowd with intentions of escaping. Bucky finds him as he always has and shakes his head before squeezing his shoulder and sweet talking an ice truck deliveryman into letting them hitch a ride home

Four blinks - They're lugging heavy boxes into an empty apartment, making lackluster meals together that mostly consist of boiled foods. They're painting in art class and dancing in their socks to The Ink Blots at night

Bucky

Bucky

Bucky

The present comes into view and Rumlow has compromised him just as he'd intended to do. Bucky is Steve's Achilles heel, the vulnerable chink in his armor; a raw and bleeding wound that refuses to heal.

\-------

And then there is Tony.

Natasha.

Rhodey.

Vision.

Family - a single unit who'd weathered the worst of storms yet remained strong. Unity in friendship, in caring. Now divided.

And on the other side of the fence stands every rainy night spent reading comics under covers, every convention that found Bucky oogling technological marvels and gadgets, every amusement park ride that ended in Bucky saying "I'm just sayin' if you don't wanna upchuck your lunch then you need to wait 'til after to eat", every nightmare spent in a cold sweat and waking up with tear streaked cheeks.

On the other side of the fence stands Steve's _everything._ His Bucky, his best friend, love of his life.

Choosing Bucky was instinct, fighting for him was as natural as the sun in the afternoon sky, the heart in his chest.

And so he'd fought like he hadn't since 1943. He let the rage consume him, the grief seep out of his bones and onto the faces of those he once called family. He drew blood - hot and sticky on cement; the color of acrylic paint #235 (poppy).

He fought brutal and dirty, Panther's vibranium nails to shield - shield to arc reactor.

Every hit was in honor of Bucky; each one accompanied a memory -

 

-Bucky standing in Sarah Rogers' kitchen with marker on his skin because eight year old Steve wanted to turn him into canvas

-Bucky taking him by the hand and leading him onto the ferris wheel, teasing him as it swung back and forth at the tip top

-Bucky in his freshly ironed uniform, model beautiful with sadness in his eyes - hug him goodbye, hope it's not the last time

-Steve stealing popcorn from Bucky's tiny bag at the movies because he'd already finished his own

-At least nine double dates on various days that ended in rainstorms and Bucky unearthing Steve's inhaler from his pocket, leaving early

-Sharing sticky cotton candy at Coney Island and the light in Bucky's eyes when Steve told him this was the best birthday he'd had since his ma had passed

-Wasting a couple dollars at a cheap bar on Bucky's birthday because he'd insisted, staggering home and collapsing on the couch together

-Shielding Bucky on the train, watching him collide with the frigid air and ruthless terrain - crying until he couldn't breathe; demanding to grieve in private

-Kissing Bucky on the forehead when they were seventeen and wrongfully assuming he was sleeping - Bucky staring wide eyed with hair messy from sleep

-Bucky's iron grip on his thin body as he hugged hard enough to bruise every time he had to ship out, witty remarks on the ready because saying goodbye feels like all of the oxygen has been sucked out of Steve's lungs

-Sleeping in Bucky's tent; the Commando's not even questioning either of them about it; waking up to forehead kisses

-A stolen kiss in Hydra's collapsing facility, 1943

-The convention, the train, the ice, the hellicarrier, _the train_ _the train the train_

 

No. He would fight like hell to hold onto those memories until they had a moment - just one lifetime together - to make more. He'd dare anyone to so much as touch Bucky or try to take him away. They'd have to pry his fingers away from Bucky's skin, would have to go through him to get to Bucky because where do you run when everything you've ever loved is standing right there?

Still they're shooting daggers with narrowed eyes. They're throwing around words like "psychiatric hospital" "criminal" "fugitive" "confinement" - they do not belong in the same sentence as Bucky's name.

It's vicious and raw, this pain. It's fresh and new as if he'd lost Bucky only yesterday. It makes him reckless, lethal - brutal. Here is Steve Rogers of Brooklyn, here are knuckles bloodied in defense, fist drawn. Here is the most violent form of love. Nobody grieves as hard as Steve when loss has became so familiar that it's practically etched into his skin and breathing becomes painful in a way that has nothing to do with asthma.

He falls apart and lets it happen. He leaves the fight with knives in his back and the agony of existing long after the one person you'd die for is gone (it still feels like Bucky is gone, mourning is relentless).

He loses his family, this is the way the story goes.

\------

And then there was one.

Vitals are displayed on transparent screens, implants in muscle where an arm once was, gauze around bleeding fingers.

Pale skin under a sleeveless shirt, white pants to match, hair neatly combed and face littered with bloody scrapes.

Here sits Steve's reason for living, for signing up for the war time and time again until he found the 107th, for crashing a jet into ice caps after Bucky fell, for letting his body collide with murky river water because Bucky truly didn't know him anymore.

Here is love.

"This isn't the real war, Steve."

Sam was right. At the core of the avengers dispute was Bucky Barnes and he had always been the war that Steve was willing to fight for. Offer Steve an out, offer him a million dollars, a family with stability and a home - anything in the world. He'd still choose Bucky.

Earlier in the day Bucky had solemnly admitted that he didn't think he was worth all of this. Steve's heart hit the floor and his throat felt as if he'd swallowed nails. What he wanted to say was this: "There is no one else in the whole world over who is worthy of such a fight, of such a fierce love and god if you have any idea how much I have loved you (how much I love you still) then you wouldn't doubt it even for a second. I died when you fell from that train and I've been dying over and over again until the only time I feel alive is when I'm with you." But it is too much too soon.

Instead, he turns over many responses in his head and aims for a neutral one but this is true at least: "It wasn't your fault." If Bucky knows him at all he'll read between the lines and hear what Steve cannot put into words. If Steve tries, he will break.

The jet lapses into a heavy veil of silence.

\-------

Steve jams his hands into his pocket, curls them into fists because the urge to touch Bucky one last time nearly overrides every sensibility that he has. There is no long hug goodbye, no passionate kisses or professions of love. What remains instead is a lingering forehead kiss and the pain of watching Bucky remove himself from Steve's life once more; the smile that quickly wilts on Bucky's lips.

T'Challa and the nurse vacate the room in order to give them a moment together and it's tragic where it should be sweet.

Bucky is trying to be brave for him, he is making a decision on his own and it should feel good but there is only pain.

They exchange small talk, pretend that this isn't another goodbye. The idea of walking away is too heavy to even think about. 

It isn't long before T'Challa and the nurse return then the cryo tank lid closes over Bucky as frost collects along the front. Suddenly the room seems colder, smaller without Bucky in it. He has a way of taking up a lot of space without even trying, it's a natural talent of his and Steve misses him already.

T'Challa ensures Steve that Bucky will be safe here then gently pats him on the back before walking away, the nurse following.

He's not sure how long he stands there with palm pressed against the glass, murmuring apologies and retelling stories of their younger days but it does. Bucky doesn't so much as blink but his heart rate rises slightly when Steve speaks and that's something to hold onto at least.

\-------

He books a moderately decent hotel room near the facility and uses the name Grant Buchanan, wakes at dawn to visit Bucky every morning. Most days he sits there in silence with forehead pressed against the glass as if he's waiting for Bucky to tap it from the other side and demand Steve to give him privacy. Other days he finds himself rambling on and on about Brooklyn and their now deceased families - how Becca always liked to brag about outgrowing Steve in height.

When it's too much he reluctantly informs Bucky that he's not gone for good, just needs time to process. It's hard to grieve when the love of your life is alive but you cannot reach them. It's agony. 

\-------

It had taken approximately four hours post cryo freezing of Bucky for Steve to slip into ghost mode.

He eats, he sleeps, he dreams, he rewrites their story in his head night after night until it makes more sense.

T'Challah offers him a room for as long as he wants and Steve takes him up on that. Sam insists on joining and he doesn't know it but his presence is the only thing that's keeping Steve from teetering off the edge.

They watch mindless television while Sam snacks on Sunchips and iced tea and Steve goes through the motions like a man who has forgotten how to live. He has became the dark shadow that covers any spark of light. He is a haunted house with no end in sight; fun house mirrors reflecting upon a broken man.

Sharon calls and he forgets how to tell her that he can't seem to function without Bucky, that staying alive is exhausting. She demands no explanation, simply offers to be his friend and yeah Steve could use more of those these days.

After six months the knot in his stomach untangles slightly, the tense muscles relax and breathing is painful still but not nearly as bad. He is not yet living, doesn't know if he ever will but it's progress.

\------

One year drags onward - each grain of sand in slow motion taking its time.

And then, on a cool Autumn day in October, Bucky wakes and breathes life into the ghost once more.

There is a warm kiss on cold forehead, a smile as the sentiment is returned. Here there is life.

**Author's Note:**

> title is from Gravity, a poem by the incredible Andrea Gibson


End file.
